


Laments of an Icarus

by synonym



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Ficlet Collection, M/M, Pining, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-09-20 18:14:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9504818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synonym/pseuds/synonym
Summary: I wish to remain, indefinitely and irreparably, his, until my lungs collapse and I am unable to move my legs to reach his side. They will have to tear my failing body away from him, and even then I would fight a war to continue my existence in his axis.Mr. Wooster was the sun, and as much as I knew I would never leave him, I had the equal knowledge that I would never put my person close enough to his to melt my wings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These are a collection of small moments that Reginald Jeeves collected throughout the years that burn small holes into his restraint, facade, and distance from the man he had deemed the sun.

"Jeeves, can you make me muffins?"

"It is three in the morning, sir,"

"Muffins,"

"You've had a lot to drink, sir,”

"Muffins sound incredible,"

"As do you, sir, but that does not equate to a good idea," I wanted to say. I imagined the flush on his cheeks, his wide eyes, his bottom lip parting. The soft noise he would make in surprise, unsure if it was because his head was swimming in liquor or if it had actually occurred. And I could get away with it, I know I could. 

Instead I say;

"Muffins will upset your stomach very quickly after consumed, toast would be advisable in this case,"

"Toast," He nearly giggled himself off the chair that he had sprawled himself over the back of, "Come here, Jeeves,"

I walked towards him, the back of the chair between us acting as a barrier, and his hands find interest in my tie and he slips it out of my waistcoat. 

"Why do you always get to undress me and I never get to undress you?" 

He talked so dangerously at times. His voice was teasing and soft, his eyes were so warm and inviting. His fingertips made making shapes on my dress shirt and left a burning, tingling sensations in their wake. 

"I am the valet and you are the employer, sir, it would be illogical," 

"What if as an employer it was something I required?" I'm certain he meant it to be humorous, if there was ever the perfect word to describe my employer it would be innocent, but it passed his lips in a breathless murmur instead of the joking intone he, I suspected, intended. 

A dangerous, dangerous line. 

"Sir," 

His head which had been tilted down slightly, inspecting my tie at great length, shifted upwards at my voice and we were nose to nose.

“Would you permit me if I asked?” His endless blue eyes bore into me.

“I would let you do anything you wanted, I would move heaven and earth for you, if you asked, I would never ever refuse you, I’m yours,” I would say, if I were a selfish man, if I had a fraction less of the willpower that I prided myself upon. 

“Like I said, sir, that line of thought is illogical as I am the valet,” I said instead.

He made a small tug on my tie and his forehead was against mine.

“Aren’t muffins just a sweeter, cylindrical version of toast?”

This man would be the death of me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Richard Little invites my employer to his Hallow's Eve haunted house as it is the new trend that had developed as of late. The experience was a frightful event for Mr. Wooster, however, for myself it was entirely the opposite.

He pressed his back into my chest, the back of his right hand flying up to meet his mouth in surprise. I could feel the spasm of his fear course through his body at the bloodied vampire that jumped out of the broken, wooden panels. His hand instinctively grabbed the first thing in reach, which after he had backed himself up into my person, happen to be my wrist. 

“I bally well hate this,” He mumbled, his fingernails digging holes into my skin without realization. I had to force my mind not wander at the sensation but the imagery of a another scenario entirely enclosed my thoughts.

He would have his fingernails in the bare of my shoulders and my back. There would be the slick of the sweat on his neck that I could taste when my teeth brushed against the soft spot on his below ear and I could hear him let out a whimper, and the begging, Lord help me, the begging that would leave his mouth as I entered him, the way he would feel, the enticing embarrassment that would flush his boyish, angelic features, and-

“Please, Jeeves, please,” He whispered in my ear just before a ghoul shrieked loudly to our left. It tightened his grip and I felt the warmth pooling just below my hips. I chastised myself mentally to keep my mind check until belatedly Mr. Wooster jumped as a reaction to the continuous shrieks and his mouth which had been hovering near my ear was pressed against my neck below my jawline.

Lord, give me strength.

“Can we go?” His mouth was moving, brushing against my skin, and it felt warm. I felt my body reacting to the stimuli and my mind could only do so much to create a resistance against it.

“I believe Mr. Little intended for his guests to finish the haunted house therefore the only option, besides the continuation of the linear path, would be to turn around, sir,”

“Dash Bingo’s intent! I want to go,” My employer was near quivering in the crook of my shoulder. 

I could not begin to describe the appreciation I had of the fact that the visibility inside the haunted house did not extend beyond the length of an arm. I could hear the faint sounds of feminine screeches from behind us, but they were far enough away I did not have to fear for both the reputation and actions of my employer. 

“Sir,” My softness was hidden in the my desperation to keep my voice from lowering to a dangerous tone, “It would be a quicker solution to continue until the end,”

“If you insist, Jeeves,” He gulped and remained glued to my side. His honey coloured hair brushed against the edge of my chin with both wiry arms clutched against my wrist and torso.

His jolts continue to wreak havoc on my brain. He was a man that adored physical contact and it was both a blessing and curse. It was something I craved from him, his daily delicate touch without a conscious thought, but it was something I knew I had to guard myself against. 

He was innocent and trusting and beautiful. I was the opposite and, Lord, how I wanted him. It was more than want, surely, but I stayed away from the tender emotions in my mind. It would cause nothing but grief.

“Jeeves, please,” He squeezed his eyes shut, curling himself into me once more at a sudden jump startle. His hand clutched my thigh just above a very, entirely obvious situation. 

How he trusted me and how I wished, lord I have wished, that was enough.

“Nothing will happen to you, sir,” I murmured into the wisps of hair that surrounded my features.

The tension seemed unwind in his posture and that was enough. It was enough, I repeated over and over and over.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a valet, I let the situation unfold and correct it, if necessity demands it. I do not see the need to prevent anything that would not harm him as it is another moment I can catalogue in space of my mind that he occupies.

He had been pushed into the lake by Edwin Worplesdon. 

As a valet, one does not prevent situations, but rather lets them unfold and corrects them as necessary. I mentally had already predicted the young Mr. Worplesdon’s actions before he had physically committed the offence as I had been watching my employer from a shaded tree during the time deemed as my own. 

He had been crossed legged on the docks and completely entranced by water below him. Something had caught his attention in the ripples of the lake, causing him to set his book aside (I believe it was a reread of Arthur Conan Doyle’s popular fiction) and he had let his fingers graze the surface of it with a gentle curiosity. 

I shamelessly spent time observing him whenever given the opportunity. He has recounted many a time where I had an almost inhuman sense of when he needed me, when the actuality remained in the fact that there was nothing better than cataloguing every nuance, every movement in my mind. I wanted to carve him into my basis of my memory. 

The young Mr. Edwin Worplesdon had been passing by the lake and had paused while looking in the direction of my employer and an expression formed upon his feature that indicated an opportunity. I’m sure I could have prevented it, but as stated, that is not the duty of a valet. 

He ran full force behind my employer shoving him into the water with both hands and then doubled back in the direction of the manor. A large splash erupted from the spot Mr. Wooster’s hand had been previously as his body hit the water. 

“Edwin!” Was the first word out of his mouth once his head had risen to the surface, “That child is the devil’s spawn,” He had his hands on the edge of the docks and was coughing between each syllable. 

I was moving towards him now. When I had reached the docks, he had already grappled his feet onto the steady wooden platform and his clothes were sagging with the gravity of water pulling them down and escaping through rapid drops as he pushed the hair out of his eyes.

“Jeeves,” His eyes lit up at my person and a slight tightness formed for a split second in my chest. I lived for that look, the doting dependency that shone when he realized I was there, and that was a sick pleasure I had taken advantage of time and time again.

“Sir,” There was a sentence I had prepared prior to making my presence known that died upon my lips as he began to strip. 

He shrugged out of his wet dress shirt, throwing both it and his tie on the docks. He had slicked his hair back with his hand just moments ago and the svelte muscles on his back shifted as he reached down to remove his socks. The light of the sun reflecting off his damp skin hitched the air that was attempting to vacate my lungs.

He threw the socks into the pile he had created and was looking at me with an expression I fondly described as attentively flustered. A shiver racked through his thin torso despite the heat that was beaming down on that afternoon.

“Here, sir,” I said as I removed my mess jacket and placed it over his shuddering shoulders, “There is a slight draft in the air,”

He seemed satisfied with the response, both of his hands pulling it around himself tightly. There was no wind that afternoon, but as I led him back to his rooms, the sight of him in my jacket with droplets of water trickling down his jawline, his neck, down some unknown place on his chest had me reliving the moment for many nights onward.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealousy was an illogical emotion, but that was not to be confused with possessiveness, which was in fact entirely comprehensible and I suffered from it more than I could put into words when it came to a particular individual.

I have never deemed myself as a jealous man. Jealousy in its basic form had always come with the connotation that a person was either envious of another individual’s situation, person, or relationship. Throughout my life, my logical brain had always believed it was a pointless venture of thought. Why bother to be envious of something that isn’t obtainable, when one could simply strive to better their own grievances they had with themselves? 

Possessiveness was another matter entirely that I had a great deal of experience on, but jealousy had always been lost on me. 

Mr. Wooster and I had gotten into an annual habit from the very start of my employment which was that I had the first three weeks of June to do as I pleased for a vacation. It was an unspoken, convenient time as Mr. Wooster generally was forced by either Mrs. Travers or Mrs. Gregson to visit their remote country habitats in the middle of the month and nothing was usually too dire when I returned approximately a week or two thereafter. 

Our fourth year went a little more than awry with a Florence Cray engagement situation and my vacation, although never something I felt was necessary but the upkeep of professionalism remained lodged in my entire being, was pushed forward into July by my employer. 

“I forgot that you usually aren’t here during my athletic escapades, what?” Mr. Wooster was rummaging through his drawers as I stood in the doorway, “The Wooster code of honour deems it necessary for me to join the fight.”

It had not occurred to me that my employer did anything other than his usual activities during the week that was nestled between my departure and his arrival at his country-bound relatives, “Athletic escapades, sir?”

“Yes, Jeeves, athletic escapades,” He made a small hum to in response to a royal blue garment pulled from the small mountain of clothes he had created in his rummaging, “Yours truly is challenged to a game of football every year, which I suppose you have never encountered due to the scheduling bits and bobs, as an alumni of Oxford. See, when I was at school the rivalry between Oxford and Cambridge had been particularly nasty and I played a few sports throughout the years but the football matches had always been rather tight. So some chap on the other end baited Bingo a few years back into continuing them recreationally and we have been doing it every year since.”

“Indeed, sir?” Every vacation I had taken in his employment had deprived me of this knowledge and visual experience and I was trying not to let it show in my tone.

“Indeed, Jeeves,” He grabbed rolled socks from the same pile and looked at me with his lower lip between his teeth, “Would you, rather, like to come and watch? It’s not exactly professional league playing but it can be a bit exciting, and a plethora of people show up to spectate. I know it isn’t your usual week but it, it’s entirely up to you of course, it’s merely a option, please don’t feel as though you have to just because I-”

“It would be my pleasure, sir,” I could have let him continue with his flustered rambling and his hands nervously kneading the garment in his palms. I derived a selfish desire to make him embarrassed as it produced some of the most attractive reactions upon his facial feature, but I did not want him to be convinced that my silence was a rejection so I interjected.

His face lit up with a smile that was so wonderfully unguarded and content that I nearly melted right there.

I have never a personal fondness for sports, not to say that there were not other pleasures by observing the phenomenon, but the foundations of sports never had any grip upon my person. 

Watching Mr. Wooster play, however, was more exhilarating than I could ever describe into words. He had always been a lean, svelte man, and the uniform accentuated that. The bare skin of his thighs working in tandem with the muscle beneath as he ran, the sweat the gleamed off the back of his neck, dripping off his tip of his chin, the grass stains on his forearms, his eyes that were alight with focus and adrenaline, his tongue that darted out to touch his bottom lip each time his foot came in contact with the ball. I desired to catalogue every single detail and torch it into my frontal lobe.

I regret to say that I had not been entirely focused on the progression of the match so when Mr. Wooster scored the winning goal, it took a moment for my mind to realize they were cheering. The crowd wearing the Oxford royal blue erupted into cheer and I clapped along with them, still absorbed in the state of my employer.

I repeat, I have not been a jealous man throughout my life but something occurred in the next few moments that threatened the very basis of that. 

Mr. Richard Little had wrapped his arms around the waist of my employer, pulling him to his chest and pressed his mouth against his ear, his cheek, and the corner of Mr. Wooster’s mouth. Mr. Wooster let out a laugh and placed his hand on Mr. Little’s cheek, which prompted Mr. Little to then place one final kiss on the tip of my employer’s nose. It earned him a small shove from Mr. Wooster and he rubbed his nose in response.

There was a sick, overwhelming nausea that hit my stomach as I watched it unfold, logic dictated that it was sportsmanship affection laced with adrenaline, but my heart felt like it was being flattened by a printing press. I wanted him, I wanted to have him, to touch him, to press my mouth against his skin and have him laugh just like that, God, I wanted him everyday just so, I wanted to have that reaction directed at me and me alone, I wanted-

“Jeeves?” He was in front of me now, the flush of exercise mixed with grass stains and soil, his hair untamed, there was a nervous energy fluttering out of him, “Did you have a good time and all that?”

“Indeed, sir, you are quite exceptional at the activity,” 

He broke out into the brightest grin I had ever seen grace his boyish figures, “Dash it, this will be rather embarrassing to say but I put a lot more effort into the gig than usual, knowing you were here,” His tongue darted out and touched his lips, “Your presence makes everything infinitely better, Jeeves,”

It wasn’t jealousy, I decided, as jealousy would require me desire to be Mr. Little, to have the relationship between my employer and Mr. Little, or to be Mr. Wooster. None of those applied. It was that I wanted him to never look at another human being with same soft affection, to never say such dangerous things to anyone but me, to never touch anyone else in a loving, gentle manner. I wanted to keep him as my own and never share him with another living soul or else I was certain that the unfortunate individual would not live out the night.

He was mine, my mind thought before I could reprimand myself for it. Jealousy was not logical, but possessiveness was and I had a great deal of it for the beautiful, honey-coloured boy before me. He was mine.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Travers forces my employer to improve his dancing for her daughter's wedding and I endeavour to give satisfaction.

Mrs. Travers had been complaining about his dancing, which then sparked an elongated argument between her and my employer about the nature of his intelligence and how it attributed to his choppy movements, I believe in contrast that Mr. Wooster tended to be lithe on his feet but it wasn’t my place to say, and that it needed work before her daughter’s wedding. 

He, naturally, was in disagreement and so they bantered back and forth until she made a final statement, “Have Jeeves teach you the proper form and grace, you treacherous worm, or you will not hear the end of it from me.”

Sometimes I believed that Mrs. Travers knew far too much. It was mere speculation but I deeply respected the woman nonetheless. Mr. Wooster casted a helpless look in my direction and it never ceased to cause a slight flare of warmth in my chest.

“Mrs. Travers is correct on this matter, sir, it is always best to have proper technique when it comes to the art of dancing,” 

“Thank you, Jeeves,” She gave a triumphant smile before turning to leave, “Don’t step on his feet, my idiot nephew.”

“Am I really that bally bad, Jeeves?” He cried after she had vacated the premises of the apartment, “It’s not as though I haven’t danced with another individual in public before, I am gentlemen after all,”

He sat on the bench of the piano with legs spread apart and outstretched, both of his elbows leaning against the hood of the keys. His hair was falling slightly into his eyes from its up-kept state as it often did when the day nearing its close. He tilted his head back with a slight shake to remove it from his view and I watched with a rapt interest. 

My employer was a beautiful man, indeed, with no knowledge that he possessed it. In his novels, he frequently mentions that he cannot comprehend why women seem to be drawn to him, but there was a simple answer to his confusion that I could not say to him aloud; when he smiles, with his kind eyes that one could drown in and the dimples on his cheeks form in the perfect places upon his cheeks, he radiates and the rest of the world seems like background noise. 

“I gather that Mrs. Travers wishes her daughter’s wedding to be without any faults, sir, and that her demands of you have less to do with your skill and more, in fact, to do with the image of the wedding itself,” I offered him, masking my rapture. I had learned to feign neutrality from a very young age due the nature of my social status and employment. Mr. Wooster had dubbed it my ‘stuffed frog’ expression out of annoyance but held a sense of fondness now. 

He hummed in response, “Shall we do this then, what?” 

“Indeed, sir,” 

He bounded off the piano bench with one movement to the record player and the music began. Mrs. Travers had mentioned her distaste in his footwork of the classic waltz, and I offered him my hand in motion for him to begin the lesson.

He took it with ease, however, instead of placing other one upon my waist, the proper position of the gentleman in a dance meant for a man and woman, he placed it on my shoulder and his thumb brushed against small amount skin between my hairline and my dress shirt. I suppressed a slight shiver that threatened to travel down my back and he stepped closer to my chest, leaving little room in between. 

“Sir, your hand is meant to go on my waist as the role of the gentleman,” 

“Ah, I say,” His cheeks flushed in realization, “Although, it hardly seems like I'm the one who would be leading when it came down to the two of us, what?”

His words stirred the primal part inside my mind. He would not be leading in any sense. He would be below me, both of his wrists captured in my fingers, panting helplessly and overcome by the throbbing sensation in his groin. I would make him ask for every single indecent, depraved thing he wanted me to do to his body and he would try to hide his face in the side of his arm. I wanted to ruin him and I detested myself for that, but my body found its release every night to the fantasy images of him, despite the knowledge.

He placed his hand upon my waist and we began to move. I gave small commentary as we did so, such as the placement of his feet and the shift of motion to another angle, he listened and implemented my suggestions instantaneously, and soon we found ourselves in the sound of nothing but the record player which would crackle and buzz every so often over the high notes of the violins. 

His eyes were closed for a long period of time, and I had a rare opportunity to observe the dip of his nose, the near invisible splash of freckles that spread just below his eyes across the bridge of it, and the degrees of his angular cheeks. His lashes were uncommonly long and his lips were, although wide in length, on the thinner side than most but it suited his face quite well. 

We must have danced for quite some time, as the record came to a crackling stop sometime after and his eyes fluttered open in a daze. Hazily blinking a few times, he smiled that world deafening smile and I internally catalogued the depth and length of the dimples that formed just for myself to see.

“Thank you, Jeeves,” He said softly, sheepishly stepping back from our dancing form. My hand felt a tingling sensation in its wake. 

“I endeavour to give satisfaction, sir.”


	6. Chapter 6

Mr. Wooster was seldom a quiet man unless there was something specific troubling him that he believed to be embarrassing or serious in nature. It had been a chilly evening in the mid of November and throughout the hours between returning home from his usual club to the present moment he had been unnervingly silent. Although I was an individual that enjoyed a tranquil atmosphere, I had grown fond my employer’s chatter and desires to pull me into conversation.

He had been sitting on the couch with legs crossed and both hands wrapped around his third requested drink, staring into the murky amber liquid with his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. 

I had been predicting him to inevitably confide in my person as the hours weaned on, but it still looked as though he intent on harbouring what had occurred internally so I decided to take matters into my own hands.

“If you may permit my inquiry, sir,” I said and a look of surprise graced the boyish features of my employer, “but perhaps I can be of assistance if you were to explain what is currently occupying your thoughts,”

“Ah, rather,” He murmured, his eyes seemed to soften at my concern. His fingers tapped the edges of the glass with a nervous energy, “Well, I suppose, I could,” He trailed off for a moment before looking down in the amber liquid once more.

He took a deep breath, “Have you ever made love, Jeeves?”

It took every last bit of mastery I had of masking surprise under a facade of neutrality to contort my expression into such at his inquiry. 

“I say, that rather, it comes off ungentlemanly of this Wooster to ask, I just, you see a bunch of chaps were discussing that act of lovemaking, and I know that the proper thing to do is wait until marriage,” His face turned slightly sour at his own words, “but most of these fellows were not, in fact, married and felt like a fool because I don’t know a single thing about it and you know what the worst part is, Jeeves? I don’t desire to make love to a woman, not a one.”

I chastised my thoughts for allowing myself to feel a sick pleasure at his last sentence, “It does not make you a fool, sir, to not comprehend something you have not experienced.”

“But have you had this experience?”

I considered his inquiry. Indeed, I had been with a number of individuals throughout my years sexually. Both men and women, each a different but still enjoyable experience. I never quite understood the societal construct that condemned homosexuality as the Greeks themselves had practiced it and there was no logic that could explain to me how an act of personal and consensual pleasure could be deemed as horrific or illegal. Making love, however, implied an emotional connection beyond the desire for sexual release and I had never been with anyone with that concept in mind. I assumed that Mr. Wooster did not differentiate the two and simply was ever the gentleman through and through with his softer choice of words.

“Indeed, I have, sir,” If I was a better man, I would have lied to him then, but I am not infallible and I had a selfish desire to observe his reaction. 

He watched me with a peculiar wonder and then shyly returned to fidgeting with tumbler, “Was it… nice?” 

“It is a unique experience that is difficult to summarize in its entirety, but it is nothing that you lack from your life, sir, if you are not currently in love,” I said. He seemed to ponder it for a moment and I was hit with a sudden rush of fear, “It is not something you need to seek out just solely for the understanding of the act,”

“No, I wouldn’t,” His face flushed red, “I say, that is not on my list of things to accomplish. I just felt a bit silly today, rather.”

“Very good, sir, it is not advisable,” 

He took a long sip before speaking once more, “Have you ever been in love, Jeeves?”

The light created golden hues off his honey coloured hair, his eyes had the depth of ocean, its blue was a vibrant and inviting spell that drew you near much like a current, the curve of his mouth that was expressive and alluring along with hidden dimples that came alive when he smiled. It felt like my entire world began and ended with him and as long as I was a part of his I could remain intact, alive, and content. I would die for him, I was certain. I would kill for him, of that I was certain as well. I would never have him, but love was a foolish, irrational thing and I wouldn’t trade any one of the days I’ve had in his axis for anything in this universe.

“No, sir,” Yes, I have been and always shall be, since the day I walked through that door and until the moment I find myself breathing my dying breath, and even past that until I exist no longer, in any form, “I have never been in love.”


	7. Bedfellows (Part One)

My employer was kind, far too kind. I believed that he thought it was a necessity to be giving and selfless in nature, so when we ran into a situation involving a lack of lodgings in the servants quarters while visiting, reluctantly so, his aunt who went by Mrs. Worplesdon, previously Gregson and his solution that he presented to me, stuck me quite blind. 

“Tosh, Jeeves, this is hardly a rummy affair. Just sleep in my quarters,” His hand motioned around while he was rummaging through the luggage I had packed merely hours prior, “Do happen to know where my blue tie disappeared to? I was dashed sure I placed it the bag before we toddled off,”

“The other compartment, sir,” I immediately answered his latter query through habitual professional reflexes, “Sir, there are not two beds in your quarters.”

“Ah, thank you. I fail to see your point, Jeeves, the bed is large enough for two people, and considering the circs it would simply be like two chums, like back in my school days. I say, you never knew who you would wake up beside after a night of what Bingo fondly titled ‘Drink or Dare’ which always ended in disaster. This is hardly any different, other than the drinking whatits,”

I felt the shock of his words pour over me like ice water, I attempted to school my facial features into the ‘stuffed frog’ facade as he deems it before he could pick up on any residual shift in my expression, “That is not advisable, sir,”

I attempted to say it with a neutrality that I did not particularly feel, and he picked up on the subtle differences, his head tilting over his shoulder at my tone. It was more of an infrequent occurrence, however my employer had a tendency to pick up on nuances of my patterns in tone and body language that most would not notice. I believe it was partially due to the fact that we remained in close quarters for a number of years and he has had the time to pry apart my facade and stoic demeanor. 

“Why ever not?” He demanded with what could only be described as a soft curiosity, “We are only here for the night due to her blasted birthday social gathering, it is already bally dark, and it is not as if I’m going to allow you to sleep on floor while this Wooster dozes on cushioned comfort, what?”

There are a numerous amount of reasons as to why it was illogical idea, all of which were at the tip of my fingers to utter to him then. He had shrugged on his blue tie, lord how it alights the colour in his soft eyes, and I stepped towards him then, my hands making work of the loose knot, “Perhaps you may have a logical point, sir.”

I am weak man, it seemed, much weaker than I could have ever imagined.

When he returned later that evening, buzzing with a warm languid demeanor that only alcohol can create, he looked indescribable. His tie was loose, swaying as he walked, the first two buttons his dress shirt had come undone, he was carrying his mess jacket, and his hair was ruffled in every which way. He shut the door, surprising himself when he caught his jacket in the process, and laughed to himself as he opens the door again to free the captured arm. His vision fell on me and he radiated warmth, “Jeeves! My good chap,”

“Pleasant evening, sir?”

“Quite the opposite, I’m afraid. Aunt-centric social gatherings are dreadfully dull as a stand alone entity, but Aunt Agatha social gatherings centered around the age of her birth are more mind numbing than I could ever put into proper explanation,” He gave me the most deviously boyish smile and my heart betrayed my mind for a small moment, “I nearly drank myself to the grave just to add a bit of, what’s the word, uh,”

“Excitement, sir?”

“That’s the baby,” He slid out of his shoes and walked toward me, “Put me to bed, Jeeves,”

Instead of stopping front of me, his lack of motor skills while inebriated landed him softly against my chest, his words burning holes in my lungs. His head rested, slouched just inches from my collarbone and and he let out a small gasp followed by warm laughter. I found myself closing my eyes at the contact, my hands instinctively reaching out to steady his shoulders. I wished I had the time to lose myself in the sensation, but it would say too much, no matter what little he could comprehend in his state.

It was an easy task, despite his lack of coordination, and once he was in his garments for the night, he threw himself quite forcefully a top of the bed and let his feet wrangle his way under the covetures. I made my way for the door, “Where are you going, Jeeves?”

I remained silent for a moment, considering my words, “I am going to let you sleep, sir.”

“Aren’t you going to sleep? If not, I can wait until you decide to join yours truly as I don’t feel as if trust that you will bally well show up later,” 

The man had, most of the time, an atrocious memory but this was not one of those mentioned times, “Sir-”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, all of you have to do is say the word, and we can create some little semblance of a wall with pillows if that’s what it will take to get you to sleep with,” He tripped over his words and I turned around then but whatever expression graced his features was long gone, “beside me. You have my word of honour, that I won’t bother you, I’m really not that squirmish, and I can tell you I’ve had to sleep beside my fair share of squirmish chaps,”

He was gnawing on his bottom lip, and I loathe the thought of giving him the impression that I had any negative concepts around the idea of sleeping beside him, however in the same vain, I feared giving him the knowledge that the direct opposite was one of the most painfully true realities of my existence and that I was aware of it every time I took a breath. 

“Very well, sir, I will change," I had the utmost difficult time, as this situation represents, refusing him in any way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ficlet is split up into two parts as it got too long to be a ficlet, but still pertains to the Icarus short stories, so this is part one and part two will follow shortly, I promise!


End file.
